In Bloom
by thesamespace
Summary: What happens in the past, definitely doesn't stay in the past.   Tate/Violet, Tate/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This story is a first time for me, and I'm also writing it with oreo-child. **

**Disclaimer: I barely own a car, so I do not possess anything to do with this series, just an overactive imagination.**

_**1993**_

Tate had always preferred the comforts of solitude, rather than to scrutinize every detail within social interactions. He just could never feel normal when he tried to emulate the other kid's actions and mannerisms. Even at a young age he had chosen to play by himself, despite Constance's continual tries to get Tate to engage in activities with his peers. Tate would normally just refuse, stating that they wouldn't care for his company, nor would he care for theirs. Instead, he would dive into books as a means of escape. In his stories, it was easy to see how one character could so easily communicate with another, as he had the secret insight. He was allowed into the mind of the characters, something he wasn't granted in his life, and therefore he would have to live vicariously through their whimsical tales. He would also study social interactions between his peers, which would often lead to an internal debate as to _why_ he couldn't be "more like them," as Constance had pleaded with him many times before. He already could see the differences in how he was regarded between his siblings. Poor Beauregard couldn't even leave the constraints of his room. Addy could at least go out into public without their mother bursting into hysterics, but not often would she be allowed to leave the house. Constance feared not only for her reputation as a fit mother to be affected, but also for Addy's safety. She knew that with her condition, Addy would see the world from a skewed view, as to be so entrusting in most people, and saw no wrong in bridging social barriers that others wouldn't dare attempt. All the while, Tate could roam freely, as her "promise child." He felt disgusted with himself, he saw no harm in his siblings leading a happy life, if they couldn't have one, why should he? He was surely no better than them.

This was his first insight as to how cruel the world could really be. He could often recall how his mother would snap at any complaints they had against their designated roles. Whenever Beau would make too much noise to even acknowledge his existence, Constance would have Larry go upstairs and quiet him, for fear of the neighbors discovering their dark truth. Similarly, when the allure of the outside proved to be just too much for little Adelaide to resist, Constance would reign her back inside claiming that it was a "dangerous place" for her, though Tate wasn't sure how much truth there was in her statement. By just watching how differently each of them was treated, he saw exactly how much the rest of the world valued relative "normalcy." Though to Tate, he never felt "normal." Sure, he _looked_ the part, and could act it when he felt like it, but he couldn't control himself. This is why he often felt it best to distance himself from the world. His moods could change on the flip of a dime. One minute he'd be happy, or at least content, and the next, the slightest disturbance would set him off. More often than not, the cause of the explosion would come from when he felt his façade slipping, when he could feel himself turn into the old self-destroying Tate that he reserved only for himself to see, though many people would see the result from his inner self showing. He was exhausted from the charade of a life he had been dealt. He needed room to breathe, room to be himself without the constant judgment from others. He needed a space reserved just for Tate, and Tate only.

This pessimistic outlook had also deterred him from seeking any form of friendship. Not only was he on a different level than most kids his age, but he just couldn't trust himself to be happy. This made for a very lonely life. Despite his feeling of urgency to disconnect, it didn't mean that he didn't yearn for another person to reach out and try to understand him. Even on the rare occasion that he would converse with others his age, it was often just to perform a type of social experiment. His peers were his puppets, and he had enough practice to know how to pull the strings just right to get them to do exactly what he wanted. Often, it would begin as a small idea to infiltrate their minds, to cause doubt and panic. Then it would develop into actions, though none on his part. He would merely give them the verbal boost that they needed to confront their fears. Then it was time for Tate to watch it all unfold. After years of this constant meddling, Tate grew tired of it all. People were predictable, he saw what they sought after, dangled it in front of their faces, and quickly pulled back. It was all too easy to them, all of the plastic girls held no underlying depth, and all of the meathead guys had absolutely no sense within their core. Though he would never admit it to himself, he felt envious of the shallow people. He watched as they made it seem that forming meaningful relationships was so easy. The thoughts grew in his mind as a disease; he refused to become Constance's "perfect son," he felt like nothing to anybody, he just couldn't grasp how it seemed to come naturally to so many people. Then his temper would get the best of him, often in the form of material destruction at his family's expense. Still, he continued to play his games, if anything in a way to spite his oblivious peers. He was a lamprey, lurking through the waters of public education, just seeking out his prey. Once he had tasted the blood, he would move onto another, just for the thrill of the chase. It felt like more of a systematic schedule, he felt compelled to intervene in his acquaintances' lives, but even the chase would lose its appeal. Before long, it became tiresome more than anything, and he was itching for someone to prove him wrong. He needed an exception to the rule.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This story is a first time for me, and I'm also writing it with oreo-child. This chapter is all of her lovely invention. **

**Disclaimer: I barely own a car, so I do not possess anything to do with this series, just an overactive imagination. **

_**1993**_

One month of being at the new school and she already felt comfortable among the student body. Not a lot of the kids there were giving her flack for the excess of peroxide-enhanced blonde present in her bangs, a contrast from the shamrock green staining the rest of her wavy locks that flowed slightly past her midriff. No one seemed to care about her belly button-exposing screen tees with radical imagery, paired with denim or faux leather bottoms (usually shorts) and black combat boots. The only people who seemed to be bothered by her wearing sunglasses were faculty members, and she'd put them back on her face faster than she took them off in their presence. She even got a few compliments on her make-up, which usually consisted of an obscene shade of lipstick, winged eyeliner, and a different shape drawn daily on her cheek.

Here she was, sophomore year and being herself. And her peers were actually accepting her.

She had even made friends there, the two she was closest with approaching her locker at a sprint right before lunch. They both had eager looks on their faces as they flanked her on both sides, and instead of greeting her with words, they just stared at her with infallible smiles.

After her English journal was thrown in haphazardly, she closed her locker, leaned casually against it, and finally addressed the silence by breaking it. "Okay, what did you two burn down and why wasn't I invited?"

To her left, a girl with stark white dreads and a purple/black striped windbreaker scoffed. "You think we'd go do something like that without you?"

On her other side, a petite girl with an orange beenie covering her black pixie cut played with the fastens on her overalls. "Marbles, really. Savanna and I would **never** leave you out of any reindeer games. But we do bring some news."

Marla smiled, half at them and half to herself; it was through her that the two even became friends. Yes, they'd known **of** each other for years, but if it wasn't for Marla inviting Juniper to come sit at the lunch table she and Savanna shared, they may have never discovered their similar interests in art and nature. "Lay it on me."

Juniper's tinkly voice didn't hesitate. "We were in the courtyard with Steph, laughing about how the dance team planned on doing some interpretive shit to Depeche Mode." Behind her shades, Marla rolled her eyes at how absurd that sounded. Despite already hearing this, Savanna couldn't hold back shaking her head. "When she asked where you were."

Marla pushed off her locker and turned so she was facing the both of them, newly-clenched fists to her side. "What did she say?" They were the only people who knew that she wary about Steph- some days it seemed like they were cool, others they had their claws out, ready to murder each other.

Savanna took on Marla's former position on the neighboring locker and spoke in her cool murmur. "Relax, Paranoia, she didn't want a lock of your hair for a voodoo doll or anything like that." The fists subsided, but the curiosity was still fueled by anxiety. "You know Langdon? He's asking about you."

No, she didn't. "Wait, who?"

"Langdon. You know- that basket case who's a shitty guitar rift and a sawed-off shotgun away from being Kurt Cobain the Second?"

Marla just shook her head. She was gonna inquire about who he was once more when Juniper's eyes got wide and she stared pointedly over Marla's shoulder. "Him."

Marla whipped around and didn't have to look hard for where her smaller friend was directing her to- most of the hallway was cleared out, and only one person was headed in their direction. His hair was a golden mess and almost didn't match his pale skin. He wore an unsure look, which was probably not there before she faced him, but he still trekked forward in his gray Chucks.

This guy, she knew exactly who he was- Tate.

He stopped about two feet away from her, and seemed to be conflicted with the decision to stay and talk, or run and don't look back. He was even looking over her head when he said, "Hi, Marla."

She smiled at his shyness. He was in her Literature Analysis class, and he seemed to have no problem conversing with her there. Maybe this behavior was due to him realizing that she was already clued in to his arrival, thus turning the element of surprise on himself. Maybe asking Steph to keep a secret wasn't enough of a security measure. "What's going on, Tate?"

He made eye contact (well, the best you could with someone wearing Aviators) and seemed to gain control of his nerves. "I wanna talk."

Marla just nodded, still cheesing at him. It took him shooting sideways glances at Savanna and Juniper for her to get the gist. "Oh." She looked apologetically at them. "Savanna, June, you don't mind if-"

Juniper cut her off with a hand on her shoulder. "Save your breath, hon." She whispered in Marla's ear, "You may need it later or you'll pass out from all the making out." She left with a wink at a now pink-cheeked Marla.

Savanna wasn't as subtle, her eyes becoming slits as she passed by Tate. They shared an intense look for a moment before she swiveled on her heel and walked backwards to talk to Marla. "We're right by the hemlock, Marbles." She gave the back of Tate's head one more dirty stare. "Just in case you **need** us." And with that, she was positioned forwards again and catching up to Juniper.

Now they were alone, but not truly, because a few stragglers in the hall could clearly see them together but they all chose not to care. Tate's fingers played with the end of his sleeves while Marla chewed on her inner cheek, skewing her full, painted lips.

Once he was sure they weren't going to be overheard, he took a deep breath and finally grinned, causing Marla to smile again. "Do I have to call you Marbles, too?"

Marla shook her head. "Is that what you really came to ask me?"

Tate let a chuckle out, and Marla was instantly entranced by the sound- she thought he could stand to laugh more. Without warning, he took a step forward, and Marla took a startled one back. He took another, and so did she. Once more, and now she was backed against the locker, and he placed his palm next to her head. His unease had dissipated, replaced by a dark confidence that sent raised hairs prickling all over her skin. Whatever clicked in him was stirring her adrenaline into a fine frenzy.

His free arm reached up and grabbed the bridge of her sunglasses, and he pulled them off slowly, careful not to catch any of her hair. When he was finished, her green eyes shined above the teeny bat stamped on her cheek today. "There," he spoke in a grittier voice, and now the goosebumps were borderline painful, but she didn't mind, "Now I don't have to look at my own reflection when I'm talking to such a pretty girl."

Her voice almost didn't make it past the quivering that began in her bottom lip- since when did he and his impossibly dark chocolate irises have this effect on her? "Y-you think I'm pretty?"

A smirk tugged slightly at the corner of his mouth, full of amusement and condescension. He shrugged, but continued to gaze down at her like a deceptive predator cornering his naïve prey, playing with his meal before lunging in for a lethal bite. Except the prey was quite aware of her predicament, and instead of panicking over her impending fate, she just wanted to succumb to him. Would it be fast and numb, or slow and painful? How would he react when he found out that she liked this hindered dominance?

"I think you're a lot of things," he muttered while folding up her sunglasses and resting them on his collar- she didn't try to take them back, "And I wanted to do something about it before someone else thought about you the same way."

She couldn't talk, just blinked at him a few times in stunned silence. In a matter of minutes, Marla had gone from Miss Cool to a rickety mess. This wasn't the Tate who sat in front of her in Lit and wanted to compare notes on Gaines before that comprehensive test, the otherwise quiet guy who came to class last and left first so he can make sure his sister made it to her classes on time. No, this Tate lacked shyness and insecurities; he was smooth with his words, almost manipulative, and she deducted that this was only one of his abilities. His stance was almost possessive- he looked like he was caging her like a fragile canary, unsure whether to keep her or eat her.

He continued in that seductive tone she never knew he could speak in. "How would you like to get spooky with me tonight? In the graveyard next to Cedar River?"

That was two blocks away from her old Catholic school, and a twenty minute walk from her house. Little butterflies fluttered in her gut when she imagined him walking her home that evening. "Yeah, whatever."

His grin turned toothy. "Cool." So did hers, even as his arm dropped to his side and he started slowly walking backwards and away. "Catch you at 7. Bring a jacket."

She couldn't stop cheesing after him, still practically glued to the cold metal door. "Okay." Then she got a good look at him, and feigned disapproval. "Hey, you still got my shades!"

He paused. "Oh, yeah." Without looking at them, he pulled her Aviators off his shirt and put them on his face. His smirk never left. "I bet you look better in these, but you can't have them back 'til tonight. Consider it collateral, Marla."

Instead of fighting for them back, she nodded and chewed on her cheek again- she'd have plenty of time to plot to retrieve them that night. She gave a small wave before replying with a, "See ya, Tate."

He turned around and started walking again, and she watched until he was gone before essentially skipping in the direction of the hemlock tree.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: This story is a first time for me, and I'm also writing it with oreo-child.**

**Also, thanks for all the follows and nice reviews. We just might be persuaded enough to keep up the constant updates over break, but no promises due to life interfering. **

**Disclaimer: I barely own a car, so I do not possess anything to do with this series, just an overactive imagination.**

_**2010**_

His shaggy dark mop was whipping against his face in the cold wind of the night, though he didn't notice. "She never fucking told me," he kept repeating in a desperate plea, though his words fell upon deaf ears. He had to run away, he had to find the truth. He would run as far as his beat up sneakers would take him. He hadn't planned this, unlike all of those afterschool specials that always depicted a kid dramatically pulling a packed bag from under their bed, he actually had no idea this would happen. He had just enough time to grab his schoolbag and dump all of it onto his bed, before hastily snatching a couple of mismatched clothes and his hidden cash before he flew out the door. He lit up a fag to calm his shaky breathing. "I can't believe her, what a fucking cliché of a life. No father runaway, who bails after his mom finally, has the decency to tell him the truth," he scoffed. He had read enough books to know that it was foolish to just run away from his problems, but he was livid. _It's a good thing I don't go out,_ he thought as he counted his cash. He never had the time nor patience to form any meaningful bonds with his so-called peers. _I can start a new life, where no one knows me, where I'm not a fuck up,_ he smiled as he thought.

He finally slowed down to catch his breath; he hadn't noticed how exhausted he was before he started heaving. _Must be at least a couple miles away, I'll hitch a ride on the bus, far away from here,_ he plotted as he sank into the cover of the night. Others could only catch glimpses of pale skin with a cigarette hanging from his mouth as he walked along the dimly-lit street. That's how he liked it, invisible to the world; he didn't care to take part in any society that he had seen so far. He grabbed his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and carefully took the tattered photograph from its secret hiding place. It was his one treasure, well aside from his iPod and cell phone, but he's a teenager; what else is he supposed to do? In the picture was a younger version of his mom, lying on the ground of what appeared to be a park. He shook his head at her "rebellious" stage that was apparent with the green hair and blonde bangs. _And she thinks I'm horrible?_ He laughed at the thought. She looked the happiest he had ever seen her, which he figured had something to do with the blonde locks buried in her shoulder, facing away from the camera. He had no idea who this guy was, or how he had made his mother so happy, but he was glad for it. Despite his dysfunctional relationship with his mother, he still wanted her to be happy, he knew just how much she had sacrificed to raise him. He sighed as he thought about his earlier disagreement with her.

He shrugged off the thoughts he knew would send him running back home, _I have to do this for me,_ he thought. Soon enough he reached the bus station and headed straight for the bench. It reeked of alcohol and smoke, but he wasn't complaining. Any protection against the harsh Berwyn wind was good enough for him. He despised Illinois, and was clawing at the chance of a new life. He thought of places he could go to, _Reading? _No, I'm definitely not going to see the grandparents; the South is not for me. _What is the complete opposite of this shithole state?_ He was lost in thought as he wandered over to the ticket counter. "Where are you headed, kid?" He tugged on his backpack and walked up to the stand, "West."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/n: Thanks for all the nice reviews. I had a bit of fun writing this one. We also probably should've forewarned that we are going to jump around a bit. **

**Disclaimer: I barely own a car, so I do not possess anything to do with this series, just an overactive imagination.**

_**1994**_

He slammed the door with all the strength he could muster. For once, he felt tired, he felt like stopping. He slowly climbed the steps; it was funny how a few months made him feel like such a weathered old man. "How was school, Tate?" Constance tried to act like the perfect caring mother again. "The same as when you asked last time _mother,_" he said dryly. He was beyond exhausted with her trying to feign the ideal life. He drudgingly made his way to his room where he spent most of his boring life. "This is all so **fucked**," he hit the wall in desperation. But the wall didn't hold the answers he needed. He reasoned with himself that he should settle down before he did something he'd regret. He lay down upon his bed and tried to think of anything but what couldn't escape his mind. After 20 minutes of trying to stay completely immobile, he sighed in defeat and rose out of bed when Constance started hollering up the steps that dinner was ready.

He strolled into the dining room with a smirk on his face. It was the only indicator of the oncoming storm. "Ladies and gentlemen, the ham," Constance said cheerfully as she sat the ham down on the table. _What an idiot,_ Tate thought as Larry applauded. "It looks lovely," he replied, feeding into the display. "Now, who wants to say grace?" "Oh mother, may I?" Tate asked eagerly, faking a smile. "Oh, of course, son. I was hoping you would choose to become a part of this family," Larry beamed. They all grabbed each other's hands and bowed their heads. "Dear God, thank you for this salty pig meat we are about to eat, along with the rest of the indigestible swill. And thank you for our new charade of a family. My father ran away when I was only six. If I would've known any better, I would have joined him," Tate said cynically as Constance slapped his hand. "And also, because she's been trying to get back in this house ever since she lost it; Lord, a big thank you for blinding the _asshole_ who's doing my mother, so that he can't see what everybody know: she doesn't really love him," Tate finished with a smug grin on his face. "Amen," Addy replied cheerfully, knowing nothing better. Constance lit up a cigarette as Larry spoke to Tate. "Now, Tate, I know that you've had a hard time making the adjustment with all the recent changes, moving back in after the… tragedy that my own family went through," Larry was cut off by Tate. "They burned themselves alive after you were cheating on your wife with Constance, _Lawrence._" "It was.. it was nobody's fault. Passion drove her to it. One day, you'll understand. There are sacrifices you have to make in the name of love. On a lighter note, I have reserved tickets, for everybody, for Saturday, at our community theater for the opening night of _Brigadoon_," Larry replied, trying to regain control of the conversation. Addy gasped with excitement. "I'm delighted to be debuting in the chorus," Larry finished proudly. "Well, I, for one, shall be there with bells on," Constance replied gleefully. "Well thank you darling, for being so supportive and encouraging. You have allowed me to explore another facet of myself," Larry smiled. "Yay, I love theater!" Addy happily chimed in. "Don't, Addy! You're a smart girl, you know he killed our brother!" Tate slammed his fists upon the table. "Stop it! Beau died in his slumber, of natural causes. Now, you know he had a respiratory ailment. Your brother's in a better place! He suffered with every breath that he took!" Constance desperately tried. "He only suffered because of you!" Tate's anger rose. Constance laughed bitterly before replying "You know, Tate, unlike your siblings, you were graced with so many gifts. How is it that you can't bring yourself to use them? Just a smile, or a kind word, could open the gates to Heaven." Tate regained his composure, "No matter how much you want it, I will **never** be your perfect son!" Tate left the table, leaving them all flustered. "Fucking Brigadoon," he shouted as he ran back up to his room.

"No!" he yelled as he thrashed about his room. Books were strewn in every direction, his desk was overturned and papers were scattered across his floor. "Don't tell me you're still upset over that whore, Tate?" Constance asked from the doorway. "I'm in love with her… and I can't _find_ her!" his voice rose in a crescendo, ignoring her remark. "What do **you** know about love?" she scoffed. "I could ask you the same." She looked taken aback before composing herself enough to respond, "Tate, I know that _love_ brought you into this world." "You don't have to be in love to fuck, _Constance_," he spat at her, his voice laced with venom. He stared at her through his disheveled hair. She gasped, before slapping him and storming out of the room. His doorframe shook as she slammed the door on the way out. He smiled as he touched his cheek; he knew exactly what buttons to push. Even better, the burn meant that he was still alive, he had felt dead for so long now. "She always had a flair for dramatics," he laughed as he heard her move about the house. He didn't care, not about anything anymore. His final plea, "I'm sorry," was still on the chalkboard. "I really thought she'd stay for me, that she loved me," he finally broke down; he had refused many months ago to show any signs of giving up. Now he had reached his breaking point.

Tate had been in a downward spiral the past few months in Marla's absence. He couldn't keep his mind from bringing up memories of her that he'd much rather be rid of. Then came his disinterest in school, it didn't mean a fucking thing to him anymore. He knew he wasn't destined for anything great, he didn't want college, marriage, the house with a white picket fence, and the 2.5 kids, not without _her._ She was his everything, and now that he had nothing, he was at a loss. He shut down completely. After he had decided that school wasn't for him, he needed something to occupy his time. He needed something to take all of the thoughts away. So he turned to drugs, something that would allow him a different reality, where he wasn't so fucked up. He let his mind escape his body, he felt better than he had in weeks.

He grabbed his sanctuary within a Ziploc bag and scooped out a portion onto his finger. He raised it to his nose and stepped into a different world; the cocaine rushed through his nervous system, increasing his dopamine levels until he felt a sense of euphoria. "No turning back now," Tate grinned. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the new perception. He felt untouchable, like nothing could stand in his way. "Showtime," he uttered before grabbing his bag of secrets from its hiding place.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n: This chapter is all oreo-child's invention, blame her for any emotions that ensue. **

**Disclaimer: I barely own a car, so I do not possess anything to do with this series, just an overactive imagination.**

_**1994**_

"FUCK!" Marla yelled for the indefinite time since the move to Reading, Kansas as she slammed the phone onto the receiver. Another day, another attempt to talk to Tate that gets intercepted by the devious counterattacks of Constance Langdon. "WHAT A FUCKING BITCH!"

It had been two and a half months since she'd last seen him, two and a half months since she'd last talked to him, and two and half months since she'd had any kind of respect for his mother. Every day, Marla picked up the phone and dialed the number, and every day, Constance wouldn't allow Tate to talk to her. Today, the call wouldn't even go through- the line was busy. It had been since that morning.

Marla paced around the confines of her bedroom, looking for something new to abuse and break. The majority of the figurines that used to adorn her living quarters back in California had become victims of her rage and frustration. Nothing was out of the question for destruction- wooden, glass, porcelain, crystal... if she was upset, just about anything remotely fragile in her bedroom was posed to be demolished. The only things safe from her wrath were the things **he** gave her- aside from a few select items, _those_ things were still in that little suitcase under the bed.

On the shelf next to her broken closet door sat cards given to her for various holidays and events, from numerous people who she used to think the world of. People who, at one point, didn't call her boyfriend a 'sick fuck' and a 'disturbed young man'. People who couldn't even think about Marla without shaking their heads at 'how perfect she used to be.'

With a quick sweep of her arms, she gathered up as many cards as she could and stormed out into the hallway.

She stomped the whole way down the stairs, letting her parents know that she still spited them for forcing her to move. The only reason she didn't run away yet is the promise they made- she keeps her grades up, they'll allow her to visit Tate during holiday breaks. Marla didn't believe they'd go through with the commitment, but her curiosity to see the secret decent side of her folks was so tempting.

She passed the kitchen, almost upset that she forgot that it would be empty- what did her rebellion matter if no one saw it? But the lack of witnesses didn't deter her from her plan of incinerating them all with the engraved lighter he gave her.

_Misfit Fuck__  
><em>_&_

_Tainted Love_

She had just put her hand on the knob to the back door when the reflection in the glass caught her eye- the TV screen has _**BREAKING NEWS**_ ticking across the bottom. She walked into the living room to watch the alert, wondering if another celebrity died that year. But the anchorman said something that sounded a lot like Westfield High... and that building _was_ Westfield...

**SCHOOL MASSACRE CLAIMS LIVES, MORE INJURED- WHERE IS GUNMAN?**

_My classmates._

_My friends._

_Savanna._

_Juniper._

_Addy._

_Tate._

The cards fell out of her hands, and she stood transfixed, a wave of hysteria rising slowly through her until she was quaking, running and stumbling to the phone on the side of the couch. The question wasn't who to call, but who to call _first_.

Despite the urgency for her love, she managed to dial Savanna's number first. No answer. Same with Juniper's and even Steph's. With shaking fingers and painful sobs, she punched in Tate's, actually praying that the phone was no longer off the hook.

Her eyes had been off the television for a few minutes, and they had just drifted back to the screen when the suspect popped up on the screen. She stopped breathing and her eyes had doubled in dread and shock.

The reporter was saying a SWAT team had stormed into the suspect's home, and Marla looked at the too-familiar exterior like it was the first time.

Someone other than Constance finally picked up the phone. "Sorry, you must have the wrong number. You have dialed a dead man."

Tate had never sounded so distant and heartless. Marla hadn't even had time to say anything to him by the time the sound of his door being kicked down occurred. Instead of hanging up, he just put the phone down.

She heard it all. Every word caused another tear to fall down her face.

Marla fainted and fell to the floor when the guns were fired. Her parents rushed her to the hospital when they came home 92 minutes later.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/n: No, we're not **_**actually**_** deceased, but after that season finale I do feel like a bit of both of us died. Sorry for delay, I've been in recording then lacking inspiration. Also, thanks for the alerts, comments, and whatnot; please do continue. **

**Disclaimer: If I owned this, would I want to kill my own heart? I think not. **

_**2010**_

He stepped off of the cramped bus and allowed for his eyes to adjust to the light. "Jesus," he muttered under his breath, "This is a _lot_ different than Illinois..." He pulled the sunglasses from his bag and walked around outside. "Anaheim, hm," he pulled out a map to check how close he was to his target. "What? That's at _least _20 miles, fuck!" he screamed in frustration. Elderly women craned their necks to find the source of the commotion. "Yeah? Problem?" he asked agitatedly, his patience was wearing thin. The women turned back around and continued on their route. He turned on his phone, "20 missed calls, well at least she _acts_ like she cares," he muttered before quickly turning it back off. He sighed as he repositioned his bag on his shoulder. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought as he walked towards town.

_What am I __**doing**__ here? This is fucking pointless, _he thought. He exhaled in frustration and continued towards a convenience store. The bell rang as he walked in and the shopkeeper glared in his direction. He quickly averted his eyes to the ground as he wandered around aimlessly. He caught his reflection in the glass as he reached for a drink, he looked knackered. _That fucking bus wasn't very comfortable for the price;_ he began to get lost in his thoughts. He was hastily drawn back to reality when the man behind the counter cleared his throat. He shook his head and closed the door. He slowly walked down the closest aisles, grabbing small snacks, before heading to pay. After he had paid, he stood around awkwardly. "Anything else I can help you with, kid?" The man asked. "Uhm, well do you know the quickest way to L.A.?" Koby asked hesitantly. "Yeah, a car." The man laughed. "Uhm… well I don't exactly _have_ one…" he trailed off. "Oh, well do you have a map?" "Yeah..." he replied while pulling it from his bag. "Well, _these_ spots have walking paths, though I don't advise you walk there..." he drew on the map. Koby sighed before replying, "Well, I haven't much of a choice, I need to get there and I'm kind of lacking on funds…" he explained. A sustained silence ensued, before Koby swiftly walked to the exit and grunted a thank you on his way out.

He sighed a breath of relief as he walked out into the unfaltering heat. He quickened his pace against the harsh sounds of the vehicles whirring past. His eyes darted from side to side, looking for any sign which would correlate with the fresh markings on his map. He became agitated with the abundance of street signs and not a single one proving to be useful. Finally he decided to wander until he found a central location, bustling with life. He was relieved to find a park where he could sit and sort out his predicament. Struggling, he spread out the map to its full length over a table. _Now, where the fuck __**am**__ I,_ he argued with himself. After a half hour of debating with himself, he set out on what he hoped would be the correct path.

He had walked no more than 5 miles when the sun started setting and he decided to call it a night. Luckily, he had happened upon a small hotel before the sky became too dark. The paint was chipping off the walls in the lobby, and it reeked of alcohol and smoke; but it would have to do. He confidently strode up to the employee behind the desk. "I need a room," he put bluntly. The woman skipped the pleasantries and soon started a succession of questions, before producing a key in exchange for his cash. She had barely looked up from her screen the whole time Koby had been talking to her, "What a bitch," he muttered as he navigated his way to the room.

He had barely settled in with what little he had when he heard a banging noise on the wall and moans from the room next to his. "You've got to be kidding me," he exclaimed as he stretched out on the sanitarily questionable bed. He reached for his iPod and quickly tried to drown out the events unfolding next door. _I knew this would be a whorehouse, _he thought, _just one night, I can do this._ He waited for his body to surrender to the fatigue he had worked so hard to persevere against.

The next morning he woke up slightly disoriented, glancing around the room before his memory caught up to him as to why he was here. He lazily grabbed a fresh set of clothes from his bag before looking at the time. "Shit, it's almost noon," he said to no one in particular. He had no more than a half hour before his time in the room was up. He hurriedly mapped out his destination to reach by nighttime, before walking back to the lobby to return his key.

He was a lone soul, wandering alongside the bending road. The commotion of the motorists soon became a blur against the backdrop of the California skyline. Each turn brought him closer to the thing he desired most, the truth. Each step meant knowing why he never truly fit in with the sham of a family he was brought up in. He would do whatever it took to uncover why he had been lied to his whole life. Dusk was setting as he approached yet another shady looking motel. _Just like ripping off a band aid, the quicker I do it, the better,_ he reasoned with himself before reaching the doors.

With renewed energy he woke up to continue on his exhausting journey. He decided the best plan of attack would to just stop groaning about it and get it done as fast as possible. He found a quaint shop to stop in to refill his rations for the trip. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he had finally sorted his head out. _This is the best idea I've ever had,_ he thought, _though I'm not quite sure what to do once I get there,_ his confidence faltered ashe continued on his way. He had been able to cover over half of the way before decking out in his new temporary sanctuary.

He fell into a pattern of walking as far as his tired legs would carry him, before choosing a new resting spot to fall into before falling asleep. On his last leg of the trip, however, he wasn't quite as lucky to find a cheap room to call home for the night. "Now what?" he glanced around. "This will have to do," he said as he found refuge from the rain underneath a large tree in a seemingly deserted spot.

The next morning he woke to the sounds of nature, which would have been reassuring if he hadn't realized he slept outside. "What the fuck?" he screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/n: Wow, this is rather embarrassing. I've actually had this chapter written for a bit, but my co-conspirator was to put another chapter up before this, yet we've both been swamped. So I apologize for going AWOL, my laptop's been acting a bit wonky as well, so without further delay, the next chapter. Also, a million thanks for the reviews and alerts, it helps to make us write. **

**Disclaimer: I hardly own a laptop, so I definitely do not own anything to do with AHS. **

_**2010**_

"What the fuck?" he screamed. His head felt damp, as he blinked to adjust to the midafternoon light. He shifted to lean on his elbows as he took in his surroundings. He was alarmed to find a clearly inebriated man pissing near his head. "Fucking mind, man?" he tried. The man replied in a slew of incomprehensible words, slurring to the point to where Koby couldn't be bothered to decipher it. _Fuck,_ he thought as he gathered his things and nearly ran away from his bizarre awakening. He finally stopped once reaching a gas station.

He exhaled as he stared into the mirror, _what am I __**doing**__? _He thought. The water running over his face only temporarily quelled his doubt. A loud banging startled him, "This is for customers only," the man yelled through the door. "Just give me a fucking minute and I'll buy something," he retorted, "Damn." His moment of peace was over as he threw his bag back over his shoulder and lazily walked out of the room. By now, Koby had lost all interest in whatever he consumed; it was just to fulfill a basic need. He carelessly grabbed small items from the shelves before reaching for a couple beverages. He paid for his things and made his way to the door.

He was feeling less like himself as he continued on the trip and more like a robotic ghost of who he used to be. His body was on autopilot, which allowed for his mind to wander. Every mile he walked, he felt his doubts growing to an overwhelming amount. He had debated forgetting everything and just returning home, yet something also kept him moving. No matter where the internal dialogue between his thoughts went, it always seemed to circle back to the idea of _I need to do this for myself._ He groaned as he realized he had been walking along the roadside for 3 hours, without so much of a break. His senses returned and he found a bench to rest upon and to gather his plan. He collapsed onto the cool metal and felt his worries wash over him. His head thudded against the back of the bench as he looked into the sky for the answers he needed.

Twenty minutes and two energy drinks later, he felt better about his decision and decided to continue on his way. He plugged into his music player and continued to march upon his way. Every once in a while, he would quickly turn on his phone, glance at any messages he had, before turning it off within the same few minutes. Making his family worry about his wellbeing was eating away at him, but he had to stay strong to make it through his trip. He had received over 20 texts from his mother alone, most of which read: **I'm really sorry you had to find out that way Koby, I love you and I hope you'll come home. **Then she digressed into more of a plea: **Please at least let me know that you're okay, you're my son, and I love you. Please do that for me at least. I won't make you come home; I just need to know you're alright. **He could feel tears started to form, but refused to allow them to fall. He took a long breath to calm his emotions. His body felt as though it was deflating and he was just being dragged to the ground from the weight of it. He shook his shoulders and tried to allow for the stress and nerves to leave his body.

After almost a week of the constant battle raging within him, Koby finally reached his destination. "Thank fuck," he muttered as he saw the Los Angeles sign appear before him, "About time." He reached into his bag for his trusty map, _now to find a motel,_ he thought.

The sights before him matched almost the exact description of where his parents had always told him never to dare venture into. The sign was falling off of the dilapidated entrance of the building. It smelt of booze and repressed memories. He approached the desk cautiously, not wanting to find someone in a foul mood who would be tempted to take it out on someone who just happened to be there. He had far too many of those run-ins for him to feel comfortable. He made his way to the counter and hastily bought a room and was on his way. As soon as he entered his room, he fell onto the bed with a heavy sigh. His weathered body soon felt the effects of his travels catch up with him as he fell asleep. His last thought was about finding out who his family really was.


End file.
